


Dualscar ==>

by twii2ted_8333335



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Biting, Blowjobs, Bulges and Nooks, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Cherubs with troll biology, Crack, M/M, Morning After, Nookeating, Oops, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Spanking, Stuck on an island AU, Xeno, Xenobiology, Yeah there's plot now, anatomy exploration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-23 21:07:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2555711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twii2ted_8333335/pseuds/twii2ted_8333335
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He thinks he's high and mighty and perhaps where he lives, wherever that is, he is the captain of his own crew in a sense, but here on your ship, he might as well just be an unwelcome wriggler. </p><p>And you will not tolerate this shouting little mess any longer. At least your crew isn't dumb enough to try to follow his orders despite his constant threats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teach Him a Lesson

**Author's Note:**

> There's no excuse for this. Can't blame my moirail or my uber bestie. This is literally me shipping the crackiest ship ever. 
> 
> I'm worried.

You do not accept brats on your ships, even if those brats do have the mouth of a sailor and the strength of a highblood. He's an intruder, he has blood as bright as a mutant and skin greener than your crew's faces during a storm, and he is an absolute brat. He thinks he's high and mighty and perhaps where he lives, wherever that is, he is the captain of his own crew in a sense, but here on your ship, he might as well just be an unwelcome wriggler. 

And you will not tolerate this shouting little mess any longer. At least your crew isn't dumb enough to try to follow his orders despite his constant threats. 

The solution is simple. This brat is small enough for you to march over to him and lift him up without a problem. He pauses in his ranting for a minute as you throw him over your shoulder but starts right back up once he gets his bearings. He's squirming too, kicking at your chest, fists pounding at your back. His strength is a bit surprising, and his hits do sting since there's nothing to absorb the consistent impacts besides your muscles. You'd all been trying to wind down for rest when the day crew had reported him appearifying onto the ship.

You take him back to your quarters, depositing him onto your bed without much thought. Your hand comes up to his mouth and easily covers it, though that does little to stop his raving. You growl, low and dangerous and tired. You do not want to deal with this shit at all.

So you remove your hand and press your lips to the green ones previously beneath your palm. 

It shuts him up certainly, which you're extremely thankful for. It also leaves his lips parted just enough for you to slip your tongue into his mouth. Red blooms over his skin in a huge burst of color. He's panting when you pull back from him, fists gripping the sheets beneath him so hard his knuckles are turning a lighter shade of green. He's got this look to his eyes that makes you believe he wants to completely murder you for kissing him and yet he wants you to do it again. 

He licks his lips, glistening lightly, and you lose it. Your lips crash onto his again, and you think he's expecting it this time because he actually kisses back. You think he's trying to turn it in his favor, as if that would actually work. You play along though, allowing him to feel in charge as he takes initiative, as he relaxes and turns tense muscles into trembling muscles. He's inexperienced but makes up for it with determination and vigor. 

You trail a hand along his side, feeling him shudder beneath you. You idly wonder if he'd ever done anything like this before up until it's obvious he doesn't have your full attention — and he knows he doesn't because you've gotten lazy in kissing him back. He snaps you out of your thoughts with a bite to your lower lip, a pinprick of blood welling up, and you return the gesture with a slap to his rear. He cries out, mostly in confusion and not entirely in pain. 

"You do not," Your voice is that low growl again, and you grip his chin with the hand not kneading his ass now so that he'll focus on you, "have the advantage here. You're treading thin waters as it is, strolling on to my ship uninvited and then acting as if you've run it for the past ten years. Any troll in your position would be terrified, not trying to rile me up even more." You give him another swift hit to his rear, and this time he definitely lets out a moan from the impact. His hands grasp at your upper arms in an attempt to hold himself up, but you can see his body slumping, submitting, admitting defeat. 

Even if his eyes are still lit with fire and his words are sharp when he says, "You've already done the most heinous fucking things I can think of. Go ahead and try to do worse." He acts he's survived through the worst type of torture. You have an undeniable need to prove him wrong. 

You push him back onto what barely constitutes as a bed, then turn him around so his cheek is pressed against the sheets, his ass raised to you. Try to do worse? You'll teach this brat a lesson in challenging you; one he'll never forget. You bring your hand down on him once, then again, always changing the position, the force, to keep him guessing. He keens beneath you, never fully shutting up even if his words aren't coherent. 

You've lost count of how many times you've hit his backside by the time you stop but his skin is burning hot and mutant red beneath your fingers as you rub the sore skin. His breathing is harsh, face half buried in the rumpled sheets of your bed. You think he might finally be subdued from his high and mighty mindset but when he opens his eyes and limply looks back at you, you realize that's not entirely the case.

He's got an admirable fire in his spirit, and you can accept that. You don't mind the little spark he puts in you by constantly acting tougher than he obviously is, nor do you mind the burning need to pound that insolence right out of his body. He does have anatomy pretty similar to yours — a candy red bulge and a nook type opening that's absolutely begging for your own bulge — so that wouldn't be anything close to a problem. You do mind the fact that he really pushes your buttons saying, "Is that all you've got, old man?" without even trying. He gives this shit eating grin when you don't immediately answer, and you grasp his hips at that. A growl passes your lips as you pull him closer, grinding against his throbbing skin. He hisses in return, hands gripping your sheets again.

"I'm just getting started, you loathsome brat." You push the loose pants you have on down enough to expose your bulge, glad that he's too far gone to notice how eager you are to fuck him into the platform. 

You think you blank out for a few moments after initially pressing inside him; he's warm and wet and just taking the entirety of your bulge with so little resistance — it's overwhelming. 

And then you're actually moving and listening to him groan as you fill him and moan as you just press against everywhere inside him because you can reach every spot that would feel good and some that probably shouldn't. He doesn't seem to mind though, not when you're going fast and hard and he's already just so far gone from you smacking him earlier. 

You actually manage to slap him again and that drives him over the edge, literal bucket loads of red staining your bulge, your thighs, your sheets. Bright violet is added to the mix not longer after and you honestly can't berate yourself for lasting so short a time when he was so warm and tight around you. 

You really shouldn't let him stay with you but you don't exactly want to boot him out either. He made your night a hell of a lot more interesting albeit messier. So you clean him off in what passes as an ablution trap, help get the slurry out of his body, do a quick sheet swap so you aren't sleeping in pools of genetic material, and settle down on the platform for the day. 

And maybe you do calm him a bit when he wakes somewhere close to sunset, confused and aching, and maybe you do pull him a little closer so he's not feeling alone as he sleeps the rest of the day with you. You don't want him to be frightened off any time soon after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a side note, I do have some of more of Momma Egderp written so that's probably getting updated this month.
> 
> On another side note: What actually possesses you guys to click on this to read this? Not that I'm complaining but really. I'm curious.


	2. Greet the Evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Damn it._

You don't particularly want to. You just want to lay on your platform and sleep away the remaining days to land. You feel more exhausted than before you went to sleep, muscles throbbing and aching dully. Just enough to be annoying. 

You're forced to open your eyes when you feel another throb, a little more pronounced than the bits in your hips and your legs. You prop yourself up on your elbows, slowly so as not to disturb the guest in your bed. He's facing away from you, pants torn up and stained a bit, shirt dangling loosely on him. His backside and what you can see of his thighs are still flushed bright red. 

You don't remember being quite so rough with him, but considering his stature compared to yours, you think you were rough more by his standards than your own. You almost feel bad. He squeezes at your bulge though, what little is out of it's sheathe, and you remember why you hated this one. He's an absolute brat. Thinking he can touch you so intimately and without even asking. First thing in the evening too — you were still asleep, damn it.

You growl and he whips his head around to look at you. He's got something of a sleepy look still to his eyes, beneath the "troll caught trying to sneak extra grubloaf" expression. If what you've observed about him so far is anything to go by, he doesn't have much knowledge about what he's touching, even if he's got one himself. If kissing and spanking are the dirtiest things he could think of, then he really is a clueless wriggler.

And you should really kick him out now but his hand is straying back to your bulge now that he knows you aren't going to cull him. 

You give him a nod and he breaks eye contact with you at last. His attention goes back to your lower half, fingers running along the edges of your sheathe and tip of your bulge, coaxing it out further. You keep yourself propped up to watch him as he runs his fingers and palms along the length as it exposes itself more. You're pretty sure he really is just curious about what exactly was inside him but you're really not complaining because there is some pleasure out of the softer touches. 

He works your bulge completely out of your sheathe before he stops, hands stained and dripping lightly with violet, eyes still wide as he looks over your girth. He looks conflicted now, like he wants to have it inside of him again — and you know he does because you can see the candy red of his own bulge between his legs, the folds of his nook flushed lightly — but now that he can actually see the size of it, he understands just how risky that is. 

"Speak, boy," He jumps as you talk, obviously not expecting it. You wonder if he'd forgotten you were I'm fact attached to your bulge and that you had a mind if your own. 

He swallows, looking back at you again. You think he's trying to steel his nerves, to actually tall to you in a way that won't make you snap and pound into him again. You grin. Good. He learned his lesson then. Or he realizes his body may legitimately break if you were to do it troll nights in a row. 

"I," He pauses, still thinking, still trying to determine how to phrase what he's thinking. "I want to feel good again." 

You think he meant that to be more forceful than it actually was. He's intimidated by you — and he goddamn should be. But before you can say anything, he speaks again, and you are a little proud of the change in his voice. He's much more confident, much more like last night, with that fire in his eyes and that spark in his words. "I want you to make me feel good. Now." He makes it sound like as much of an order as he dared. 

You find yourself admiring his qualities again. He does have some redeeming ones after all. 

You sit up fully now and pull him into your lap, extremely glad that you have some control of your bulge because his nook is warm against the base and you really just want to feel it again. Your hands circle his hips and — God, he really is just a wriggler compared to you, he's so small. You don't think you'll be able to though, not tonight. You over extended him already and you're not going to break him. Not when he's sounding like a welcome addition more and more with every passing minute. The fact that he makes your blood boil when he gives you that grin like he's just won a game against you is just a bonus.

You idly toy with his bulge, letting it curl around your fingers until yours are just as coated as his are. He's biting the inside of his cheek by the time you remember you had something to say. You smirk wide, showing off your sharpened teeth. You can't tell if when he shivers it's in fear or excitement but the throb against your bulge from his nook has you leaning towards the latter. "This good enough for you, boy?" 

He gapes at you. You tug his bulge to turn the disbelief back into pleasure. He shouts in surprise. You're teasing him, and he knows you know it too. It's perfect, a nice way to start the night when you've got a potential black fling in your bed. 

You wrap your hand more firmly around his length and pump, watching as he tries not to squirm too much in your lap. He's biting his lip, wanting more but not wanting to ask, or maybe not able to. His hands grasp at your arms, squeezing so tightly that you can feel his nails digging into the toughness of your skin. It's a sting that you missed, just enough of a bite to tell you this is real and not a messed up fantasy your sea addled brain is conjuring from weeks of seeing the same people every day. 

"M-more," He grinds out through his teeth, eyes squeezing shut so he doesn't have to look at you as he begrudgingly bends to your will. "More, damn it! I want m-more!" 

You grin, murmur a little compliment to him for finally saying so, and flip the two of you so he's pressed to the platform with you hovering above him. He scrambles for a moment before his feet find purchase in the sheets, his hips lifting as you give a harder tug in the confusion. A gasp rips from his throat, loud enough to echo in the small of your room. 

"Elaborate, boy. If you're going to order me, you'd better be specific." If this little brat continued on with the vague commands, you could banter out all night, with you just adding a little pressure or a bite here and there to satisfy him. As appealing as it sounded to tease him like this for hours on end, you were tired still and he'd gotten you more worked up than you cared to admit.

He growled at you, and you growled back, grinning. The gesture was less for dominance, less for warning, and more for just mutual agreement. At least that's how you interpreted it, and you think on some instinctual level, he did too.

"Fuck — Make it feel like last time. Make me feel good, you fucking — " You cut him off with just a tap to his rear, as it was likely still sensitive to touch. Your hand didn't leave his skin though, instead running up from where you hit to the back of his thigh, then finally resting on his inner thigh. His legs fell open at your touch — he really wanted you to do this for him. 

"There is a difference between order and insult, if you couldn't tell. Be glad that I'm not making you beg for it — and don't think I'm below that." He'd made worse people beg for him just to spare their lives; he would make his guest beg to give him pleasure if he was going to be disrespectful like that. "Try again, brat." 

He's silent for a few moments minus the harsh panting your ministrations have caused. Then he let's out a long whine as you take the tip of his bulge between your fingers and rub.

"Put your fucking bonebulge in me! Do what you did last time! Don't make me fucking say it again!" His hands detach from your arms to smack at your chest, anger lacing into his breaths and groans. You let him ride the energy out, falsely thinking about how to respond to him. 

You gave him the same grin he loved giving you, the meowbeast got the lusus milk one.

"No."

He stopped moving, though his chest still heaved in air as you hadn't.

"No?!"

"No. Your body would break if I even tried sticking my bulge in you." You hush him when he opens his mouth to protest more. "There are other ways to please you though, don't you worry about that. Cruel, I may be, but you've nothing to do deserve true torture." You move your hand again stroking a finger up the slit of his nook. He shudders under you. "Just a little teasing."

That sets him off on how you've done more than just "a little teasing" within the past twenty four hours, how he deserves at least something at this point. He's tasted blood at this point and he wants more. It's a typical case. You let him go off for a few moments before deciding that you really don't like the sound of his voice this early in the evening.

He half squeals his words as you suddenly drag his hips up to your face, lowering yourself on platform so he's not lifted clean off it. You drape his legs over your shoulders, hands returning to the underside of his thighs. You don't wait for him to speak again, instead immediately just dragging your tongue along the flushed skin of his nook. 

The shout he makes doesn't surprise you as much as feeling his muscles clench on nothing. His body gives a slight spasm before he's trying to pull you closer, trying to get you to do more by tightening his legs on you and grasping at your horns to tug your head forward. You slap his hands away and hold them to his side with one of yours. There's little you can do about his legs except ignore them for the moment. 

You mutter a reprimand about being patient and return your previous actions. 

He's a writhing mess when you do finally press your tongue inside him, and you're not sure if it's more likely he's going to lop it off with how tight he gets or if he's going to come if you get a chance to move. 

You find out that the latter is more likely. He doesn't last much longer, a less generous amount of material spilling into your mouth, onto your lips, his abdomen. You lick at him until he's actually trying to push you away now, oversensitive and spent. You set him flat on the platform again, wiping off your lips as you sit back up. You look him over with a large grin, proud of yourself over how well you've done.

Your bulge is still thoroughly interested in getting some attention but you ignore it. You can take care of that in the ablution block once your brat falls asleep.

Except he doesn't go to sleep like you expected him to. He somehow manages to turn himself around though you can see his limbs shaking with the effort. Before you can tell him to not push himself and that if he doesn't listen to you you're going to tie him up, he's got his mouth on your bulge, trying to somehow imitate what you'd just done. 

You pull him off only to tell him to cover his goddamn teeth before he shreds you up.

His mouth is just as warm as the rest of his body and you once again find yourself thinking that what he lacks in experience he makes up for with vigor and a want to learn. He learns which places to press on more and to avoid. He learns to breathe through his nose and not his mouth. He learns to stroke what's not in his mouth although maybe you do coerce him into that.

He learns how to take more into his mouth, and you learn he has no gag reflex. 

You also learn that you really have no clue what he is, because you had thought maybe he was an especially mutated troll, what with the red blood color and discolored skin was extremely rare but not unheard of, and you don't see any horns or horn nubs but that's the magic of cover up products. You thought maybe that he could be a troll if you tried to justify it enough, but when his jaw actually unhinges to keep taking your bulge in his mouth, you know you couldn't explain it with the help of the entire Alternian population. 

Not that you're complaining. Because his throat is constricting nicely around a good portion of your bulge now and you think you're trying to press him even further onto you but you really don't know at this point because you're so incredibly close.

You think he gags when his mouth fills with material from the surprise of it if nothing else. You let your bulge retract on it's own, watching afterwards as he gets his body situated again. You think you might actually be panting — you don't remember anyone ever being able to take all of you like that. It quite literally was a little mindblowing.

You absently clean what you need to again before cleaning off in the ablutions. You make your guest do the same despite his complaints of being tired. He bites you on the wrist when you drag him in anyway, which you return with one to his shoulder. 

You both leave the block a little more bruised and bloodied than intended. 

He goes to sleep on the platform again while you head up to the main deck to check on everything. The looks your crew give you from side glances they think you can't see and the two snickers you hear from two younger members tell you it's going to be an extremely long night up here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not write another one.  
> This is kind of too appealing to just let it go but I have other things to work on too so... I really don't know.


	3. Take a Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey look  
> Sfw calidual
> 
>  
> 
> _Help it's got a plot now_

You could use some lunch anyway, and you're pretty sure that your guest is starving by this point, what with all the energy he's been expending since boarding your ship. It's a little frightening to think about after seeing how much you eat even with the control you have on your appetite. When you have limited rations, you learn to control the urge to just constantly eat. You make a plateful for your guest to have when you head back to your quarters. 

You also make a mental note to inquire about his name but that note is essentially torn to bits when he kisses you as soon as you enter the room. You barely manage to move the food out of the way of his grabbing hands and your body as it's forced down to his range and height. It's rough in a frustrated way, not an angry one. You chuckle against his lips. How cute. 

You shove a lime into his mouth when he pulls back to keep him from initiating another one, which he almost immediately spits out. You set the plate of food in his hands and calmly lead him back to the platform, sitting him down by pressing on his shoulders. You don't take a seat next to him, instead sitting in the chair you usually have resting by your desk. You watch as he looks to you, then down at the food. He picks up a few pieces slowly but soon he's trying to shovel bit after bit into his mouth, so fast you're not even sure he's chewing it properly. He isn't choking though so you aren't all that worried. 

You lean back in your chair, absently shutting your eyes. A nap wouldn't be too terrible, especially with mostly calm seas and an unriled crew. Your only new addition is in your room and if he attempts to go out of line on your ship again then he's going in the brig. No more of this fancy treatment with food and flings. You hope he realizes this. 

-︴_︴-

You wake up to a loud crash and a roll of thunder. The thunder you aren't too worried over; it had sounded far away enough to give you plenty of preparation time in case you did have to run through it. The crash came from your room, from right by you in fact. You're still a little sluggish as you look over at your desk, drawers fallen out and cluttered on or around your green guest. There's papers scattered everywhere, and he's looking at each and every one of them, growling when he reads anything on it. He tosses them haphazardly around himself, making your rage bubble up. He doesn't seem to realize that you took time out of your busy schedule to organize all of that. Or that you have to turn most of those in to the Condesce. 

You really want to strangle him. You only clear your throat. 

He freezes where he sits, a paper in hand that's actually blank. Both sides are unwritten on, uncrinkled, unused. You think that's all he wanted because he sets it aside and starts cleaning up the mess he's made of your block. You nod approvingly, taking the next few minutes to decide on whether or not it would be worth the end result to sleep more now. This wriggler exhausts you to no end without even trying. 

There's another roll of thunder. You're almost positive now that you're going to end going through this storm.

Your guest speaks to you once he's finished at least putting your drawers back in their slots, your papers in neat little piles ready to be sorted yet again, "I need a pen. I found the paper on my own but I need a pen. And ink." He looks like he wants to say more but he just shuts his mouth, waiting for you to oblige to him. 

Which you don't. 

You stare at him as he awkwardly holds his precious piece of paper to his chest, eyes looking from you to the ground then back to you again when he realizes looking away is a sign of weakness but away again when he remembers you're actually still intimidating. You shake your head, chuckling again. He's very easy to read when he isn't angrily pounding away at something. You like that; it'll just make him easier to rile up. 

You stand, pausing to crack your joints out of their stiff positions, and go to fetch him his supplies. You're actually extremely curious as to what he wants them for though you presume it's for drawing. Or maybe he likes to keep things documented like you do. Who knows? 

Your ship suddenly lurches and you very nearly lose your balance when your blockmate crashes into you. You manage to steady the both of you on the wooden floor, waiting a few moments to see if there's anymore movement. You take him by the hand, that goddamn paper clenched tightly in his other one, and take him up to the deck with you. 

It is pouring down rain. Bucket loads of water are just splashing onto your deck from the sky and the roughening seas and you're absolutely appalled by how quickly the storm moved in. It's something of a set back but you work quickly helping your crew take the necessary precautions to try and steer through this. Even the bratty stowaway helps out once people start giving him orders. 

The storm is an exhilarating change of pace but with every passing minute it's getting worse and worse and you have a bad feeling that this is going to be labelled one of the worst storms in the history of Alternia. 

None of you are expecting it when the ship actually begins to break apart, particularly you. You've had this ship for years. It's as sturdy as a rock and just as tough. A bit of rocking should not be tearing her up at the seams. She's weathered worse than this, you're sure of it. 

You try to hold off. You can feel the storm swelling and you know it's going subside or end soon — storms this intense almost always do — so you really do try to hold out on the orders to abandon her before she really breaks apart and becomes a hazard. Most of your crew are sea dwellers and those who aren't are the best swimmers you could find. There's a very high chance all of you will live if you could only _hold off._

And then you hear a shout from a familiar unfamiliar voice and you know there's no holding off now. Your bratty stowaway got swept off the deck being too careless and not holding on to something and you could really just let him go, maybe pray the tides carry him off to a shore, but there's a tug at your chest that makes you jump into the sea with the order to stay on for as long as possible. You know they aren't stupid. They'll take care of themselves. 

You're really going to strangle this boy. You really are. As soon as you save him, as soon as you're on dry land or on the ship again, you're going to strangle him until his cheeks are bright with red. 

And then you're going to kiss him until the rest of him is just as red as his cheeks.

So much for your break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they still don't know each other's names what the hell  
> -︴_︴- dualscar is unamused


	4. Assess the Situation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mini update because I'm still trying to figure out what I want to do with this but I don't want it to fade away quite yet so yeah. Tiny update to keep everything level.

You're on land now. You know that much at least. 

You try to budge a bit but your body feels too heavy and groggy to do much. You think the heaviness is just due to how extremely soaked your clothes are and the fact that there's a sizable body laying on top of you. You're pretty sure he's alive if the way he's clinging to you still is any indication. Either that or you've been out so long that rigor mortis has already set in. You don't know which you'd prefer at this point.

The storm has passed. You know that too. You don't hear it anywhere nearby and the only water you feel is the waves flowing on and off whatever beach you've washed up on beneath you. You'd open your eyes but like with moving anything else, it seems to be impossible at the moment. You must have exhausted yourself trying to swim to safety in waters that rough with a passenger in tow. 

God you hate this brat. If he hadn't been so reckless — if he hadn't even appeared on your ship — 

He flinches when you growl in frustration, curling up on your body. His hands stay tightly entangled in the sopping fabric of the undershirt you'd slipped on as minor protection from anything the storm may have thrown at you. You sigh. This is such a conflicting situation. Goddamn.

"Hey. You alright, boy?" You sit up with him still pressed firmly to your chest in case he's injured anywhere. You don't want to make any wounds or bones even worse off than they already are. You don't have the supplies to treat it nor do you have any professional experience in that field. You pat him down lightly when he doesn't answer you, finding nothing out of places minus miscellaneous bruises. You make him cough a few times to make sure he wasn't inhaled water and he winds up heaving the food you'd given him before the storm. Luckily not on you. 

As far as you can tell, he's just shell shocked from all that's happened to him these past two days. You can't blame him. He's expended more energy than his body probably holds; he took your bulge full on when he probably hasn't even touched his nook himself; he was transportalized onto a ship and thrown off of it just as quickly — it all seems docile to you but you've been alive much longer than him. You've killed lusii and trolls alike. You've commanded several crews. You've seen sights you never imagined you'd see as a young'un. 

Your little wriggler of a kismesis is getting into a bigger mess than he anticipated by involving himself so deeply into your life. On the first date too. Hmph.

You check yourself for any damages and find you're more scratched up than the not-troll in your lap but there's no life threatening wounds. They should heal in a day or two if you keep them clean. 

You lay back down, looking at the mostly clear sky. You can't even tell there was a storm that passed by.

The green guy shivers where he's laying on you. You've got to admit, you're fairly chilled yourself in wet clothes and no heat. You can see the beginnings of daylight on the horizon so your clothes won't be wet much longer. 

With neither of you burnt or broken up though, and the sun still having a few hours before it will really start to bother you, there's no rush to move. You can lay here and take in what's happened and figure out what you need to do in order to survive here until your crew finds you. 

You try not to fall asleep but you're still so exhausted from the excitement that's happened these past two nights that you can't atop your eyes from shutting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a side note when I started writing this at like three am on some day, the beginning started as: 
> 
> "You're on land now. You know that much at least.
> 
>  
> 
> **== > Is that all you can manage?**
> 
>  
> 
> Ye boi."
> 
> I think I should have kept it like that |D


End file.
